No Plans
by Kristynite
Summary: Set at the end of 'Friending Emily.' After a long day, Olivia and Amanda cross paths in an elevator. Neither has plans but Rollins just doesn't want to go home and face her sister. What happens when Rollins has drinks with the woman she's got a crush on? And why is Benson suddenly starting to see her as more than just a friend?


Hey, hey, hey. Testing the waters with this one. I've only ever written one other SVU story. It was decently-recieved. But I wanted to try something new. If oyu read this and like it and want me to continue, let me know. I have more planned. But I'm not going to write more if this flops :') Thanks for clicking!

* * *

"Hold up!"

After a long day of chasing bad guys, the last thing Olivia Benson wanted was to run for an elevator.

And it _had_ been a long day. It'd been a long few days, what with the entire squad trying to track a virtually anonymous live stream. Eventually, they'd ended up at Rikers, enlisting in the help of an imprisoned hacker with bar-none coding skills. He'd helped them find the stream but it wasn't that simple.

In the end, Nick Amaro had used his quick wit and natural charm to occupy the perp, a sleazy twentysomething named Peter, until armed forces could break down the door and save the fourteen-year-old girl he'd snatched from a frat party.

Now Olivia was dead on her feet. And all she wanted was to go home and crawl into bed.

Lucky for her, Amanda Rollins was the one with her finger on the button.

"Thanks," said Olivia, smiling appreciatively as she stepped into the elevator, leaning heavily against the back wall with an even heavier sigh.

Amanda licked her lips, a reflex that seemed to intensify when Olivia was around. She had too much on her plate, though, to even begin to fret over the ever-increasing crush she had on her co-worker. Her sister was in town, kicking up a dust storm of drama and familiar, familial regret. And Amanda's head was spinning, clouded with conflicting emotions.

On one hand, she was the older sister. In theory, it was her _job_ to take care of Kim. It was her God-given duty to protect her, to help her. On the other, she knew, at least on some level, that Kim was a lost cause. She was mentally inept, not completely there, so to speak, and was inexplicably dependent on an abusive man.

And Amanda was fresh out of ideas.

How do you save someone who doesn't want to be saved?

And because of the stress caused by her sister's return, not to mention the exhaustion and anxiety that came along with the case, Amanda presently lacked the mental drive to think about Olivia.

Even if she did look so good with her hair up. And even if her new leather jacket made her look like the world's sexiest secret agent. And even if Amanda knew that the cold weather had Olivia applying Chapstick five times a day, and that her lips were probably as soft as silk.

Amanda blinked until her brain went silent. With her eyes searching for somewhere else to look, she decided to fill the silence.

"You got plans for tonight?" she asked, almost hopingly.

"No," sighed Olivia, fighting the desire to yawn. "I'm wiped. You?"

"Quiet night at home with my sister," Amanda said begrudgingly. "We haven't really had a chance to catch up, so." Olivia nodded understandingly, or at least as understandingly as she could considering she had grown up an only child. She didn't understand the type of hesitant, albeit unconditional, love that Amanda felt for her sister. She didn't understand the guilty reluctance or the complex need to help. But Amanda was her friend. She saw the way her demeanor had changed ever since Kim showed up. She could see it in her eyes, she could hear it in her voice that first moment Kim walked into the precinct. She sympathized. And she wanted to help.

"Yeah," said Olivia, her voice gentle. She took a step closer, unwittingly causing Amanda's heart to race. "I know there's a lot going on with her. Can't be easy."

Amanda took a brief second to get a good look at Olivia. It was dangerous, she knew. Most of the time, she treated Olivia like a solar eclipse, only ever stealing quick glances. It was too risky to take a long look. But at that moment, she allowed herself an extra second of staring.

Everyone knew Olivia was beautiful. All the men in Special Victims spent the day ogling her. She was all long legs and dark hair and brown eyes. It didn't help that was kind and affectionate, always making physical contact with the person she was talking to. She'd touch their arm or stroke their back, always looking into their eyes and speaking softly.

She was maternal. A healer. Warm and accommodating. But she was strong. She could out-run a perp in high heels. She could shoot the buttons off the shirt of a dangerous criminal without missing a beat. She didn't bat an eye when someone got up in her face. She kept her composure and always seemed to do the right thing.

Truth be told, it was no wonder Amanda had a crush on her. What she couldn't figure out, though, was how Olivia's last partner had never tried anything. From what she'd heard from Munch and Finn, Olivia was more than close with Elliot Stabler. They were the best pair in Special Victims and the rest of the squad had been running an over-under on when they'd sleep together.

As far as Amanda knew, they never had. But everyone who knew Elliot and Olivia seemed to think that there was something going on, even if neither had acted on their feelings. And from where she stood in the elevator, Amanda couldn't say she blamed Olivia's mysterious partner. Was it even possible _not_ to fall in love with her?

"She likes to stir things up," Amanda said weakly, trying to put a light spin on things. "Keeps her calm." The elevator dinged and Amanda looked up, giving a small sigh. "I can handle it."

"Still," said Olivia, eying Amanda carefully. She looked her up and down, nodding as she tried to read her.

Amanda Rollins was interesting.

She wasn't like the other women of SVU. Actually, she wasn't like any of the other women Olivia knew. Amanda was extremely intelligent. She was a quick-thinker, competent and good at her job. She was a little awkward, though, in an endearing type of way. She spoke before she thought. She spoke too quickly sometimes, too. She was eccentric, excitable and passionate. Sometimes she tried too hard but that was only because she wanted people to like her.

And so far, she and Olivia had gotten on very well.

Stepping out of the elevator, Olivia touched Amanda's arm, making sure to catch her eyes.

"Take care of yourself," she said.

Amanda's arm burned from where Olivia had touched her, and as she followed her out of the elevator, she did something impulsive.

"Hey, Olivia!"

Detective Benson stopped walking, stuffing her hands in her pockets as she looked over her shoulder. Amanda had let Olivia get a good head start before calling her name so she jogged to catch up with her.

"I don't really want to go home yet," she admitted lowly. She bit her lip, a little embarrassed to be seeking affection and friendship in such a way. She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. "I know you're tired but would you maybe want to–?"

"Let's go get a drink," Olivia said, her lips curling into a smile as she wrapped her arm around Amanda's shoulders.

* * *

"I just don't know what to do, Liv."

Olivia sat across from Amanda in the corner of a smoky, dimly-lit bar downtown, smiling as Amanda slurred another honest-to-goodness rant about her sister.

"She fights me every step of the way, gives me grief about every bad decision I've ever made and meanwhile she's still using, she's sleeping with guys who slap her around."

With a mix of a grunt, a groan and a sigh, Amanda collapsed down onto the table, burying her head in her arms. A moment later, she popped back up.

"This table is filthy," she muttered and Olivia laughed.

God, she was cute when she was drunk.

She kept fumbling with her hair, tucking strands of blonde behind her ear and blowing her bangs out of her face. She couldn't sit still, either. Olivia thought Amanda was fidgety when she was sober? Get a few drinks in her and the girl was downright spastic. But Olivia thought it was adorable anyway. And she couldn't stop smiling, shaking her head as Amanda shifted in her seat and downed the rest of her drink.

She was making less and less sense the more she spoke, struggling to piece together and verbalize her thoughts. She knew drinking was a bad idea, especially because her filter tended to fade along with her sobriety.

There were pros and cons to her drinking. For example, the drunker she got, the less she cared about her issues with Kim. That was a good thing. Alternatively, the drunker she got, the less she seemed to care about keeping her crush on Olivia a secret. That was a bad thing.

"Did you try talking to her about it?" Olivia asked, sipping the gingerale she'd ordered because she was sure that someone needed to be sober. "Just sitting down and telling her all of this?"

Amanda hiccupped.

"Kim doesn't listen," Amanda said. "Never has. Even when we were kids. She just does what she wants. Doesn't think about it. Doesn't take advice."

While Amanda was talking, she'd taken a handful of napkins from the dispenser in the middle of the table. Now she was spreading them out, covering the filthy tabletop so she could put her head back down.

"I'm bummed about it," Amanda muttered, her cheek sticking to the top layer of tissue paper.

Olivia laughed again, trying to keep her giggles quiet which was easy since the bar was noisy and Amanda wasn't paying her any attention. Alcohol and family drama had clogged her senses to the point where she hardly noticed the gorgeous girl across the table.

That was until Olivia, almost entirely on a whim, reached across the table and ran her fingers across Amanda's arm.

Just like that, Amanda was wide awake and back in touch with all of her senses. Goosebumps and chills shot up her spine, freezing her thoughts and setting her cells ablaze. What the hell was Olivia doing? Just being a supportive friend, surely. Nothing else. Right?

Just to be sure, Amanda peered up, letting only her blue, blue eyes peek up over the sleeve that covered her right arm. Olivia was smiling back at her only it wasn't her usual grin.

It wasn't the smile of relief like when the squad busted a prostitution ring.

It wasn't the arrogant smirk she donned when the Mets beat the Yankees in extra innings.

It wasn't the amused beam that came with listening to John Munch's various conspiracy theories.

Hell, it wasn't even her natural, easy smile that Amanda saw on her face twenty times a day.

Whatever it was, Amanda couldn't place it. She blamed the alcohol, but, in reality, she wouldn't have been able to ID Liv's expression if she was stone-cold sober.

And it wasn't her fault. Olivia herself didn't know why she was smiling. Or how.

There was something strange going on inside of Olivia Benson's head, inside of her heart and soul, and even places south of that. She didn't have the luxury of blaming booze. She hadn't had a drop. Whatever she was feeling, it wasn't fueled by vodka.

And that, she decided quickly, was bad news.

Olivia thought she knew herself pretty well. Sure, like anyone else, there were parts of herself that were cast in the shadows. There were corners of her soul that remained shady and confusing. At the very least, she thought she was completely in touch with her sexuality – her _hetero_sexuality.

But there was a pounding in her chest, a voice in her head and a pull in her lower stomach that was making her rethink everything. And it all happened in a matter of seconds. As soon as she'd dragged her finger across Amanda's arm, it was like Olivia had woken up from a fortysomething-year-long dream.

Now her eyes were open. And her legs were suddenly shaking.

Clearing her throat in the most inconspicuous way she knew how, Olivia straightened up, keeping the unfamiliar smile on her lips.

She had to keep her cool. She was a New York City detective, after all. She dealt with high-tension situations every day of her life. 'Calm' was her middle name. She'd interviewed and interrogated hundreds, if not thousands, of dangerous criminals. She got in their face. Screamed at them. Tricked them. Sometimes hit them. She had ice water in her veins, always unimpressed and unmoved by their shouting, their madness, their threats. She'd been hit before. Even kidnapped. And none of it scared her.

Was she about to sit there and be afraid of Amanda Rollins?

Hell no.

Amanda wasn't scary. Sure, she'd had her moments. Amanda could pack a punch, everyone knew. She was small but she was fiery. Feisty, even. She was a sarcastic, stick-to-her-guns, no-nonsense type of chick. That was what Olivia liked most about her. Yeah, Amanda could be awkward and shy. But when it came down to it, Amanda Rollins was a badass. (And it was attractive, seeing a take-charge woman like Amanda. Olivia was sure that she was straight but every now and again, a stray thought would cross her mind. It used to be about Alex Cabot or Casey Novak. Something about a strong woman with blonde hair…)

But not at that moment. At that moment, right there in Gilbert's Bar, Amanda was drunk and broken. She looked even smaller and more fragile slumped over herself, her bright blue eyes still gazing up at Olivia, shimmering with confusion and searching for clues. Detectives can't turn it off, Olivia realized, scoffing lightly as she finished her gingerale.

No. She wasn't going to be intimidated by Amanda, especially since Amanda had no idea what was going on in Olivia's head. _Olivia_ barely knew what was going on in Olivia's head. And at that exact moment, that split second that the thought crossed Olivia's mind, she was okay with it.

She spent her whole life _knowing._ She had to know the facts. She had to know what was going on. Know the suspect. Know the victim. Know the crime scene. Know procedure. Know what comes next.

She was sick of it. A little chaos would do her good. A dose of not knowing? It was just what the doctor ordered. She needed to take a break from knowing. She needed to dive into uncharted waters. She wanted to rely solely on her own instinct, her emotions, her gut. Not her intellect. Not what she _knew_.

"Come on," said Olivia, standing up abruptly. She held her hand out and Amanda simply stared at it, unsure of what was happening on the other side of the table. When the blonde didn't response, Olivia cocked her head to the side. "Let's go, Rollins." Her words rolled effortlessly off of her tongue and over her perfectly glossed lips, her tone dripping with something that bordered on demanding and superior.

This was not a request.

And Olivia's dark brown eyes shone with something Amanda just couldn't make.

"Go where?" she asked dumbly, sitting up so she was no longer sprawled on the dirty tabletop.

"My place," Olivia said lowly. Amanda's eyes widened, her teeth catching her lower lip. Olivia didn't wait any longer, reaching down as she snatched the blonde's hand in her grasp. "Now let's go."


End file.
